


sacred field

by isa-kat (daisy_chains)



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Magic, Nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 03:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisy_chains/pseuds/isa-kat
Summary: A field is just a field to most folk.





	sacred field

A field is just a field to most folk. Just a piece of land with plants on it. A tree on that field, the large oak with initials carved on the trunk twelve meters up, near the thick branch that’s perfect for two kids to sit on, it’s still just a tree. The initials can’t be spotted easily where they’re positioned and the tree itself is far away from the road and takes fifteen minutes of walking to even see.

Nobody cares about these little details. A field is just a field and a tree is just a tree. The initials marking that tree don’t mean anything to anybody, not when they don’t know who _J. H. L_ \+ _T. W. W._ are or what happened the day they carved their initials into that tree.

Nobody knows how sacred that field is, how important that tree is. They don’t know what conversations were whispered in the safety of their tree’s limbs. They won’t notice the leather cord tied to the tallest branch with a vial of ash, _T. W. W._ engraved on it, hanging from it.

And just as they won’t notice this, they won’t know the whispered “ _if I die first, I fully expect you to tie my ashes to this tree_ ,” nor the following jokingly serious conversation that occurred one dark winter morning.

A tree is a tree, but it is never just a tree, for the rough bark of this old oak holds many a secret with no plans to divulge them to a wandering ear. Spots which, once upon a time, were seats now lie cold and empty, but the memories linger.

There’s magic in that tree, you see. It was never just two foolish kids claiming a tree with a switchblade, no, it was so much more than that. This is the magic of two children putting themselves into this tree, their magic bleeding into the bark and intertwining itself with the magic of nature itself. A story untold lingers there, in that field, in that tree, but sometimes the best stories are the ones nobody ever hears.


End file.
